


Grrrrrrrl, Why You Wanna Treat Me So Bad?

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Cuddling, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heightened Werewolf Senses, Logan has fur but he isn't a furry, Ororo Wants Logan to Keep Her Warm, Ororo's Neighbors are Pissed, Remy LeBeau is a Good Bro, Remy is a Good Neighbor, RoLo, Tumblr Prompt, Unintentional Public Nudity, Unintentional Stalking, Very FURRY Cuddling, Werewolf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: The three-bedroom house had curb appeal, sat on a cul-de-sac, and boasted the biggest back yard on the block. But, Ororo’s realtor never mentioned anything about the naked guy who she found on her grass every time she went out to get her newspaper.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talliya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talliya/gifts).



> Taken from the Tumblr prompt, “Apparently not even my werewolf form can forget my big fat crush on you, since I keep waking up naked in your yard.”

The ground beneath him felt clammy and cold, and something was pricking Logan’s face. His senses buzzed with myriad sensations: The wind dusting over his bare flesh; bits of grass tickling him in strange places; the sore stiffness of his muscles, telling him he had changed last night. He groaned hollowly and tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the movement made his head ring. Up above him, the sun shone warm and blinding, and he didn’t panic immediately at the implications.

Daylight. Morning.

And… he was still _outside_.

“Aw, shit.” His voice sounded crackly and rough to his own ears. He spat out the bits of dirt that invaded his mouth during his impromptu nap and pushed himself up on his arms. Logan scrubbed his face with his palm as his vision rebooted itself, slowly processing all the colors and shapes of daylight.

Just as he made out the familiar curb and beige stone pavers, seeing them from the incorrect perspective, he knew he’d fucked up again, but this time-

“Okay. Hey. Hi, there. You’re on my lawn, buddy. Little chilly this morning, don’t you think?”

“Geez…”

“Heeyyyyyy. Rise and shine, there, pal.”

Logan twisted himself around halfway, craning his head around to stare over his shoulder, toward that resigned voice. A rich, low alto with a slight Bronx accent. From his vantage point, he only saw ankles and long, elegant feet shod in taupe high heels. “This probably looks bad.”

“You’re raising a few eyebrows, buddy.”

“Lemme just get up-”

“Don’t. Just… if we’re looking for any chance of a dignified conversation, don’t get up yet. Here.” Logan felt something soft and heavy fall over him. “Might not be your color. Might not be your style. But try to make do.”

Logan fumbled with the edge of the fabric, a soft, fuzzy chenille. Pink. _Shit._ His morning was looking just peachy so far. “Thanks. I guess.”

“Oh, it’s my _absolute_ pleasure.”

“You always this much of a morning person, darlin’?” Logan shrugged his way into the robe, jerking it up his arms. It was snug on them, straining across his too-broad back, but like the lady suggested, he’d have to “make do” until he could make his escape to lick his wounds.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

[](https://imgur.com/6r1PrEA)

Okay. He’d had that one coming. _Still_. Logan rose stiffly, attempting to brush off the bits of grass clinging to his chilled skin, until he realized that her other neighbors were beginning their rides to school and commutes and getting an eyeful. He watched a slender blonde in a white linen suit covering her daughter’s eyes across the street and giving him a death glare. Logan nodded and gave her a casual smile as he tied the too-short sash to cover himself.

“Hey. Mornin’.”

“Pervert,” she hissed.

“Enjoy yer day, ma’am.” He waved, and she shook her head, rolling her eyes as she loaded her Girl Scout into the back of her BMW and pulled out of the driveway.

“So. I don’t know what’s going on. You told me the last time this happened that you sleepwalk?”

“Yeah… more or less. Look, I’m sorry.”

He turned to face her, and once again, Logan’s brain and libido both screamed at him, _You’re fucked._ No woman had the right to be that beautiful, and unfortunately, Logan had developed a track record for annoying her. 

Her voice held a note of sympathy and she adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Did you have a bad night?”

Logan hugged the robe more tightly against himself. It reached his knees. The object of his nighttime visit and ongoing admiration towered over him, and it did things to his self control to imagine how little of her long legs it left exposed. They made his mouth water at the moment, sheathed in off-black nylons, showcased by the almost-too-short-for-daytime tapered skirt. He caught himself staring and immediately forced his traitorous eyes to focus on her face.

That didn’t make it any easier for him. _God, she was beautiful._ Sapphire blue eyes with dark, curling lashes watched him with a mixture of annoyance and genuine concern. And maybe just a hint of amusement at the sight of him wrapped in pink chenille printed with teacups and saucers. The Victoria’s Secret tag in the neckline made Logan itch.

Logan exhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah. A bad night? You could say that. That I had, uh… a bad night.”

“Okay. Well.” She shrugged and checked her watch. “I’ve got to get going. I only get paid if I actually show up to work. This has been fun.”

“Hey, darlin’? I just… I’m sorry, all right?”

His voice sounded resigned and sad. His smile was awkward, not quite reaching his eyes.

“Try to have a better day, then. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“For the time being, keep the robe.”

“I can bring it back later-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She tipped off in those heels, and Logan caught a whiff of her feminine scent. Coffee, sandalwood, and the warm, sweet pheromones of her hair. It always got his motor running, and it invaded his dreams. It was no wonder his changes inevitably brought him back here.

Every full moon. He wondered if she even noticed the pattern. 

She paused before she got into her car. “Logan?”

That made him pause in starting his Walk of Shame. “Yeah, darlin’?”

“It’s… probably not the best idea to sleep in the nude. If you’re going to sleepwalk.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” His voice was dry. Her lips twitched.

“Bye, now.”

She drove off. Logan kicked himself all the way home, cursing his lycan instincts not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

He didn’t know why he did what he did. Why showing up on her doorstep - scratch that, her _lawn_ \- was so routine for him.

But if he had to name a reason, if he had any inkling of why, Logan considered, it was because being around Ororo Munroe felt _safe_.

The wolf in him trusted her.

Logan just wished that he could have more chill, though, because this was getting _awkward_.

*

 

The Walk of Shame was always a walk because Logan never had his wallet in his pants when he woke up. What, with having no pants on, and all. A Cab Ride of Shame would have made his day. Just once.

He inevitably ran into Remy when he came out to check his mail. Logan could have predicted his reaction to the robe. He paused in sorting the junk mail from the bills as he took in the pink robe.

“Least it ain’t Frederick’s, mec.”

“Yeah. Lucked out this time, fer sure.”

“Beats newspaper,” Remy shrugged. Ororo might have gotten sick of Logan stealing her newspaper and making a makeshift skirt for himself.

He wondered if he was wearing her down.

Remy discovered Logan’s affliction one night when he was taking out the trash in the middle of the night after coming back from a late shift at his radio station. Logan scared the crap out of him when he went to dump his old beer bottles into the recycling dumpster. Logan had growled at him, making Remy drop the bottles, shattering them loudly on the asphalt. 

The lycan was fearsome in the darkness, eyes glowing that eerie green-gold, snags of sharp teeth gleaming. Remy was taller than the creature, but he was built like a tank, covered in this, coarse brown fur. Remy had interrupted him while he’d been stalking a squirrel. 

Remy froze as the creature glared at him, growling and whuffling in the darkness. His heart pounded as he watched him sizing Remy up. Remy tried to make himself “taller” in the hopes that would intimidate him.

That just made him _pissed._

“RAWRRRRGGGHH!!”

“Aw, shit!”

Remy’s bad midnight snack habit saved his life. The creature approached him slowly, growling and baring his teeth. Cruel talons protruded from his fingers, and he moved with predatory grace. Terror speared Remy’s chest and he broke out in a cold sweat. “Oh m’God,” he breathed, not recognizing his own voice. The sound of it, a breathy whimper at best, confirmed the beast’s advantage over him and his raw power. He breathed in the scent of Remy’s fear.

It was a rush.

Remy was alone in the parking lot. Unarmed. Unprotected.

Then the creature paused, still regarding Remy and cocking his head slightly.

“Easy, mec,” Remy urged. “S’okay. Ain’ gon’ hurt ya, I swear!”

The creature made a thoughtful noise in his throat and stared at Remy’s chest, relieving Remy of that stare from those eerie golden eyes. His snoutlike nose bunched up as he sniffed Remy with interest. He was close enough now that his whiskers brushed Remy’s skin. Remy felt like he would pee himself any second.

Remy risked a glance down at his chest and noticed the lump sticking up out of his shirt pocket. The familiar, bright yellow plastic wrapper winked up at him. “Whut… y’wan dis?” Remy huffed a nervous laugh and reached in to take out the Slim Jim spicy beef stick. He’d grabbed two of them from the vending machine and wolfed one down on the ride home, intending to enjoy the other one with his Corona before bed. He took out the Slim Jim and waved it at the creature… man… whatever it was.

He watched incredulously as the creature’s face went from menacing to _eager_. Remy thrust the stick toward him, and he cringed as the creature snatched it from his hand. He turned away from Remy and tore at the stick with his teeth. He backed away from Remy, who edged away from the dumpster and sidled in the direction of the pavement. He watched the creature fight with the stubborn wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth, before he savored the questionable, salty beef.

Remy locked himself in his apartment after making the breathless sprint back and slamming the door shut. He heard the creature’s low growls behind him, but he had no plans to entertain him any further.

Remy didn’t know whether to call the police, or animal control. Either way, he knew no one would believe him.

 

*

 

When he had similar encounters with him around the apartment complex – the last time, Remy had to lure Logan away from the Nelsons’ yappy dog with a package of raw chuck steak – Remy finally realized that he had to live nearby. The creature was unpredictable, but once he began to recognize Remy during his excursions, by sight and by scent, he was friendlier, or at least less hostile. Feeding him kept him from roaming as far.

Talking to him, though, paid off. Logan understood speech in that form. And he apparently respected Remy when he finally stood up to him.

“Dis ain’t workin’, mec. Folks don’t take well t’havin’ de wits scared out o’ dem in the wee hours, ya hear? G’wan t’bed. Wherever dat is.”

The werewolf bristled at him, whining.

“I mean it. You behave.”

He growled at Remy, cocking his head, then crouching in supplication, but Remy folded his arms.

“Bedtime,” Remy ordered firmly. He even used his Dad Voice.

He followed the creature at a distance as he loped off, tracking him to the apartment complex next door to his. Remy saw him head for a downstairs unit whose door was slightly ajar. The creature wandered inside, snuffling and bumping into furniture. Remy hovered just inside the door. The apartment showed signs of a disturbance; Remy noticed a couple of broken dishes in the kitchen, and a throw pillow on the floor of the living room that had been torn to shreds. The refrigerator door hung open, and Remy saw a Styrofoam meat tray coated in a thin, telltale layer of chicken juice.

Remy’s new friend had gone out for dessert. All right.

Remy lingered in the apartment, cautiously, as he watched the creature head for the bedroom. He was tired, not unlike a toddler after a day at the park.

He collapsed onto the bed. Within minutes, he dozed off, chest rising and falling in broad, jerking huffs. Remy spied the digital clock on the nightstand. It was four-thirty AM. Remy sighed. Anyone up at that hour had a story to tell, and Remy  was dying to hear it, even though he doubted his own sense of self-preservation at that point and questioned his sanity for it.  
The creature slumbered quietly. Remy yawned, already drowsy himself, and he slumped in the corner and watched him. His eyes eventually drooped shut; by that time, the sky outside shifted from indigo to royal blue, and the last of the stars faded from sight.

Remy woke up to a hand poking  him in the chest, then roughly shaking him.

“Wanna tell me how ya ended up here in my apartment, bub?”

Remy startled slightly and stared with bleary eyes at the short, burly fortysomething man with thick, wild dark hair who stared right back at him, clutching a bedsheet around himself. “Ya left de do’ open after I sent ya t’bed, dat’s how, mec.”

“After you… what, now?”

“Ya owe me a chuck steak. A few o’ dem, as a matter o’ fact.”

Realization dawned in Logan’s hazel eyes. “Oh. Shit.”

“I didn’ steal nut’in’,” Remy offered. But his new friend looked alarmed and much less furry than he had the night before. He reached for Remy, touching him, patting him down and checking for injury.

“Please tell me I didn’t hurt ya!”

“Ya didn’t. Kept me on my toes, though, pal. And I kept you outta trouble.”

He looked contrite, resting back on his haunches. “Wow. Okay. So, uh. I guess some explanations are in order.”

“An introduction wouldn’ hurt, either.”

“Logan. Call me Logan.”

“Remy LeBeau. Pleased ta meetcha. Now that we got dat outta de way, mind puttin’ on some pants?”

 

*

Remy learned that Logan was lonely. That wasn’t a huge leap in logic. He hadn’t dated anyone since he began to change, following an attack by a wolf that he’d accidentally hit when it loped out into the road one night. He’d gotten out of the car to check it and to call the vet. It thanked him for his concern by sinking its teeth into his wrist.

Logan lived a quiet life, otherwise. Weekend golfer. Gym rat. Definitely an outdoor person. Worked at a lumber yard and was amicably divorced. No kids. Loved dogs. (Again, not a stretch.)

And he formed attachments easily, out of that loneliness. He and Remy got on thick as thieves.

*

The last time Logan checked the bookshelves, he didn’t see any “Being a Werewolf for Dummies” manual. He felt weird about visiting online forums, wondering if anyone was tracking his web surfing history. Some of the forums made him raise his eyebrows, because a) they lacked practical advice, and b) some visitors mistook the term “werewolf” for “furry,” and it all went downhill from there. _Anyway_ …

Logan would have preferred to meet his soul mate – the woman his instincts told him was his future pack mate – under more ideal circumstances and in a nicer location. Say, a coffee shop. In the grocery produce section. At church, or at a barbecue through a “friend of a friend.”  The emergency room, lying on a gurney surrounded by kids with middle of the night ear infections, drunks who got punched in the jaw, and gunshot victims? Logan never expected to find the perfect woman there, and certainly never would have picked it as the place to begin his courtship.

Her scent enticed him, tickling his senses – which inexplicably grew much sharper as the night wore on - and drawing his focus from the noise and suffering around him. “Mr. Howlett?” Logan looked up from the bandage on his wrist, which itched horribly, making him wish he could chew it off… an urge which puzzled him. One look at the source of that voice made Logan feel like someone punched him in the chest.

“I’m the discharge planner. I’m here to see if you have a good plan for getting home tonight?”  
“Gonna take myself, darlin.’ Same way I got here.”

“You’re sure?” She checked his chart. “Okay. Looks like the painkillers you have on board won’t make you too woozy.”

“I’ll be fine, darlin.’”

She smirked at his use of the pet name. Seeing her mouth, full, soft, and gleaming with raisin lipstick did things to him.

She burst his bubble the next moment. “Can I see your ID and copy of your insurance card? I need a copy so we can bill this visit.”

“Huh? Oh. Sure.” Having to roll, flail and fumble for his wallet where it was tucked into his hip pocket wasn’t his smoothest move. She was the only staff member not dressed in scrubs paramedic gear, or a flight care jumpsuit, even though it was the wee hours of the night. He handed her the cards, and she smiled as she took them.

“Are you warm enough? Want a blanket while you’re waiting to head out?”

“Uh… no. No, I’m fine.”

“Don’t want you to catch a draft.”

“I run warm.”

For just a second, she looked at him like that thought appealed to her.

*

 

Yet, over time, that new trait got him into the most trouble.

Shifting made him run _hot_. As soon as the full moon rose, Logan felt liquid fire pouring through his veins, consuming his blood as his muscles and bones tore themselves apart and rebuilt themselves into new shapes. Hair burst through his skin, prickly and coarse, oversensitizing him and making him itch. In that form, he couldn’t tolerate clothing. Logan usually found whatever he was wearing rent and ripped to pieces, lying on the floor for him to trip over the next morning when he staggered home.

Logan struggled. It was his affliction, and he felt ashamed of it, tired of feeling so out of control at “that time of the month.” Yet, he felt stronger. Bolder. He’d never been in better health, and there was something about the wolf inside him… it was liberating. 

But these feelings… for Ororo. They presented a new obstacle for him.

His senses kept leading him back to her doorstep.

And she thought Logan was a total nut job.


	2. Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About OWWOOOOOOOO!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo doesn’t mind Logan’s impromptu visits as much as he thought. Go figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish this had any socially redeeming value. The author is a horrible person. You know this about me by now.

Ororo wished she found Logan’s visits more disturbing. Sure. That would have been the sane response to seeing the same guy showing up naked on her front lawn with almost clockwork regularity. 

Truth be told, she wasn’t even _annoyed_.

 

Concerned? Certainly. Confused? Oh, heck yes. Scared?

 

Surprisingly… No.

 

That was the weirdest part.

 

For some reason Ororo couldn’t put her finger on, Logan James Howlett didn’t scare her at all. Her work name tag didn’t even have her last name on it, but she recognized that “Ororo” wasn’t the most common name on the planet. He could have certainly Googled her, or he could have done a 411 search. A home address wasn’t as hard to find as it would have been a few decades ago.

 

He’d looked so lost in the ER, like he couldn’t figure out why the world was kicking him when he was already down. She glimpsed him when they first bought him back. He looked dazed, and blood dripped from ragged tears in his skin. 

Ororo winced at the wound, shuddering as she read the physician’s note and discharge orders. _Follow-up with primary doctor in one week. Wound care center referral. Lab redraw. Return to ER in the event of fever, pus or swelling to screen for infection._ Standard stuff.

 

By the time she showed up with his papers, he was fussing with the bandage, only pausing from it when she called his name.

 

For a moment, when their eyes met, her breath caught. They were dark and intense, and there was something there. Warmth. Gratitude. And if she wasn’t mistaken, pure, unadulterated _awe._ His pupils _dilated_ and she realized she was staring. Ororo’s stomach did a little flip and she cleared her throat, donning her professional smile.

 

She felt his eyes on her, assessing her. Drinking her in.

 

She sent him on his not-so-merry way. 

She went back to business as usual, but he never quite left her thoughts.

 

Three weeks later, she was back on her usual morning shift, glad she didn’t have to float again until Anna went on vacation. She could have sworn she heard low whuffling and growling outside her window about a half an hour before her alarm went off. “Grrrrr,” she moaned as she threw her arm loose from the covers, rolling over to check the time. It had to be her neighbor’s dog; he must have gotten loose again. Ororo shook her head every time she eyed the loose boards in his fence, which he tapped back in place with the same rusty nails. He was a yappy, auburn Pomeranian who constantly growled and barked at Ororo when she was in her own yard. She _detested_ him.

 

It was almost time to get up, anyway. Ororo got up and fixed her morning pot of coffee from blonde roast beans before stepping into the shower. She multitasked, shaving and brushing her teeth while she was in there, leaving the conditioner on her hair when she got out so she could comb it through. Ororo found her favorite pumps, black suede, well broken in, and she eased into her skirt, regretting only slightly that it wasn’t sized in “tall” when she scored it from the clearance rack at Anne Taylor Loft.

 

Her morning went smoothly because she was organized and well rested. If she got out the door soon enough, she could beat the traffic on the exit ramp. She had just stepped out the door and dug the keys out of her purse to lock up when she spied the inert form on the edge of her lawn.

 

　  
Ororo dropped her keys and could only stare, not processing what she was seeing. He was compactly built and he had ruddy, slightly hairy skin. He lay facedown on her grass, completely limp. "Someone partied too hard last night," she decided aloud, tsking. Ororo didn't know whether to find it a) awkward, b) amusing, c) unnerving, or d) concerning. He could have been the victim of a robbery. She contemplated calling the police, but her instincts told her calling an ambulance might be more prudent.  
　  
First, though, she figured, let's see if he's _alive_.  
　  
She tiptoed over to him, glad that her neighbors hadn't emerged from their houses quite yet, and she hovered over him for a few moments. His back rose and fell evenly, and he wasn't even shivering, which surprised her. On closer inspection, he was very muscular, but she slapped herself for that thought. _Focus. Can't be rude._ He wasn't bruised, and he didn't have any contusions or cuts.  
　  
Good. Now she could get back to the business of evicting him from her front yard. "Buddy. Hey. Hey, you. You forgot to get dressed this morning."  
　  
"Nnnnnggggh... huh?"  
　  
"Yeah. How should I put this? You're kind of naked."  
　  
That drew his head up sharply, and he snapped awake, twisting his head around to stare. "Oh. Oh, wow. Hi. This... this looks bad, doesn't it?"  
　  
And in an instant, she recognized him. Same deep, scratchy voice with a slight drawl. Same angular bone structure and deep, dark eyes. He had a telltale scar on his wrist that looked well healed and pink.  
　  
"The view from here is _stunning_."  
　  
"Oh, God... oh, God..." He scrambled up and immediately knocked his knees together, cupping his privates.  
　  
"Logan. Right?"  
　  
He looked stupefied at the sound of his own name. His cheeks flooded with color. "Uh, yeah. Look, darlin'-"  
　  
"Can I at least-"  
　  
"No! No, no, no! Sorry!" He glanced around, eyes frantic, until he saw her newspaper lying in her driveway. "Sorry, darlin', I'm gonna need this!"  
　  
"What... hey!" He ran over and scooped it up, flinging off the rubber band, and he flapped it open, draping the pages around his hips like a towel.  
　  
"I'll pay ya back, I swear!"  
　  
"I wanted the circulars!" she called after him as he sprinted off. But it was too late. He looked and sounded so contrite and embarrassed. He moved in long, even strides, barefoot and heedless of the hard ground.  
　  
It was too bad. She almost offered to drive him home.  
　  
Ororo glanced at the news and saw a brief local report that a man had been seen running down a bike path close to her house, with the banner "Monday Morning Streaker" running along the bottom of the screen. Ororo snorted into her coffee.  
　  
*  
　  
He never accepted the ride home. She still had no clue what brought him to her doorstep, and why he seemed so confused every time he woke up.  
　  
She began asking him questions. "Do you drink?"  
　  
"Not often. Not much... sorry, kiddo. Be seein' ya... you'll see less of me... aw, y'know what I mean!"  
　  
And off he'd go.  
　  
She kept at it.  
　  
"Low blood sugar?"  
　  
"No."  
　  
"Recreational street drugs?"  
　  
"What, do I look like a junkie?"  
　  
"No. Here, put these on."  
　  
She'd had the urge to buy a pack of men's underpants the last time she went to Costco. Just in case. He kept himself cupped in his hand, hunched over, but he reached out and plucked the briefs from her grip. Their fingertips touched, and he felt a little shock go through him with the contact. She cleared her throat and turned her back politely to let him cover himself.  
　  
Once again, off he went.  
　  
"Seizure disorder? Fraternity prank?"  
　  
"I ain't even been that much of a joiner, darlin'. And I'm not seizure-prone."  
　  
"So... what, then? Are you sleepwalking all the way over here, then?" Then she had a thought. "Or are you just lonely?"  
　  
That question took him aback. Ororo realized she hit the nail right on the head, but he told her, "I gotta go. Have a good day at work, 'Ro."  
　  
"'Ro?'" she murmured as he dashed off, this time in her kitchen apron; the rest of the briefs were in the laundry. That... wasn't the worst pet name she'd ever had.  
　  
She'd keep it.

His butt cheeks, round and firm, flapped in the breeze where the apron didn't reach.

She was starting to not mind his visits. But his exits continued to leave her flummoxed.  
　  
　


	3. Oh, So Warm…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout’s fair play. The hunter becomes the hunted…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author is STILL a horrible person. But I had fun writing this. Not too much more to finish this.

Another handful of months went by, and Ororo was no closer to decoding the mystery of her semi-regular houseguest ~~yard guest~~. Always the same time of day. Always stunningly naked. Always apologetic. Never perverse or aggressive. Always polite. 

Even Emma, her neighbor, began to take pity on him. “He’s in excellent shape to be able to run that fast, duckie.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I don’t have the heart to call the cops.”

“I’ve noticed you checking outside before bringing Esme out. Thanks for doing that.”

“I don’t want to corrupt my daughter’s growing mind,” Emma told her, sighing. “So. Do you like him?”

“As crazy as it sounds, Emma… I’ve gotta admit, I really do.”

“He’s not one for subtlety, is he?”

“No.”

“What does he do for work?”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet, but he’s single. I asked him if he has anyone home who misses him at night-”

Ororo paused, suddenly struck by an idea.

“And?” Emma asked impatiently when Ororo’s eyes took on a dazed, faraway look.

“At night,” she muttered. “Hey, Em? I’ve gotta go.”

“Perhaps he would spend less time on your lawn if you let him _inside_ the house?” Emma called after her as Ororo dashed back to her own house. Emma sighed, chuckling and shaking her head.

“Talk to you later, Emma!”

“Bye, now.”

Ororo hurried inside and slammed her door shut, then went to her laptop. She grabbed her barely warm cup of tea and swigged down half of it before she opened her browser. She Googled “werewolves” and hit ‘Enter.’ 

“Some believe lycanthropy is an ancient curse, and it is part of popular folklore…” she read aloud. She clicked through a few links that read like science fiction and found some hilarious images on an additional search.

But then, she found chat rooms. On “Living as a Lycan.” And “Surviving Your Lunar Shifts: A Handy Guide.” Or, “Managing Carnivorous Cravings and Hunting Safely During Your Change.” There were instructions and recommendations for locking yourself up in your dwelling during full moon cycles, or driving out of city limits to run free. There were pros and cons for both. Ororo read chat topic strings from people whose marriages had broken up because they found out their mate was a “shifter” after they walked down the aisle. She read about tales of changing that sounded an awful lot like discovering that your spouse was cheating.

“Good grief,” she murmured as she continued to read.

There were graphic photos of scars healed over from gruesome injuries. Some lycans reported faster healing and stronger immune systems. One of the oldest men in the world was a reported lycan, and he was still spry and active. Ororo laughed at a YouTube video of him dancing a polka. “Wow.”

There were signs for “norms” to help them realize that their mate might be a werewolf. Nocturnal habits and insomnia. Irritability in the mornings, whether they worked during the day or not. An insensitivity to cold. Stronger and faster than the average human. Carnivorous. An aversion to heavy clothing, and in some cases, _any_ clothing. Night wandering, sometimes confused with sleepwalking.

Ororo set down her tea, feeling numb and chilled.

“Oh, my God…”

*

 

It explained so much. Ororo spent most of her weekend researching werewolves at her local library. On elderly woman at the work station beside hers hovered over her shoulder, smirking. “Aren’t you getting ready for Halloween a little early, dear?”

“It’s never too early for Halloween,” Ororo told her. “I’m a big fan of it.”

“That fellow looks like he could use a shave,” the woman suggested as she nodded to the image of a werewolf on Ororo’s computer screen.

“He’s a bit of an alpha male,” Ororo agreed, making the woman cackle as she hobbled off.

Ororo read about famous celebrities and literary figures who likely had lycan blood. People who claimed that their parents, or their grandparents were werewolves. Lists of occupations best for lycans, most of them night jobs or work-from-home opportunities. She found a site listing spells the novice witch could cast to discourage lycan shifts, but she dismissed it. There were drawbacks to lycanthropy, but there were advantages, too. The “wolf” usually chose people from strong mental and emotional stock. Much like canines, one journal said, lycans recognized humans with “positive vibes” that radiated pheromones and pulses that told them that the human was not a physical threat. By that same token, infected humans were drawn to those people-

“- as mates,” Ororo read aloud.” “Holy SHIT.”

The librarian shushed her as she walked by with her returned book cart. Ororo cringed and mouthed a silent apology.

Oh. This explained _so much_.

Ororo returned the journal to the shelf, shut down the desktop and headed home. Wondering. 

If she were a sane woman, Ororo reasoned, this would worry her. Instead, the discovery spawned dozens more questions. And it even answered some important ones.  
“Okay,” Ororo decided as she got ready for bed that night. “Okay.” She showered and washed her hair, rubbed on some of her favorite scented lotion, and set her alarm for four AM. She hoped the end result was worth the loss of beauty sleep. Honestly.

*

She slept fitfully, overly aware of every sound outside, unable to ignore her neighbor’s annoying Pomeranian or the sounds of birds on her roof. Curiosity burned in her chest. She might have dozed for a while; her vision was blurry in the dark every time she glanced at the alarm clock. Twelve-thirty. One-fifteen. Two twenty-three. Three forty-five.

The alarm jerked her out of a shallow doze, and she grunted in irritation until she remembered her purpose. Ororo threw the covers aside and went to her window, using the small rod to open the blinds. She waited breathlessly, watching the sky, which was still a deep indigo. Minutes passed. Ororo filed her nails as she waited, but she left the lights off, not wanting to draw his attention yet if he showed. Her heart pounded; she wondered dimly if he would be able to hear it from here, if he came.

She felt herself nodding off sitting up, until her neighbor’s flood lights came on. Ororo woke with a start and suddenly heard some low growling and grunts. That didn’t sound like her neighbor’s dog…

She leaned down toward the windowpane, watching her own breath steam the glass. Out of her periphery, she saw large, bare feet. They looked strange… furry. “Oh, wow…” A mixture of excitement and fear mingled in her gut. He stalked into view, and she recognized the sinuous lines of his body and generous muscle, his compact stature and disheveled hair. He was nude again, no sign of the briefs she bought him, and she worried about him. The night air was cold and damp, an already exceptionally bitter autumn so far. But he was out there. She saw his breath coming out in small puffs and watched him sniff the air. He crept slowly around her yard, starting every time he heard small sounds, much like she had. 

She watched him go still at the sound of rustling in the tree, and he darted off after a squirrel. “Shit!” she yelped, before she laughed at her own reaction. It was almost _cute_. But then, the growling changed direction. Came closer. Ororo’s heart skipped.

She went silent, and she saw his feet come back into view, then watched his thick, sturdy legs emerge from the shadows. Oh. He was just as naked as before, all right… Fur didn’t quite obscure _that_. But, he was impressive. An _alpha male_ , as she had joked with the woman at the library. He was loose and wild; his nudity seemed natural to him, like he couldn’t be comfortably any other way, walking among sedate groups and carrying out mundane tasks. This wasn’t a man who wanted to be the life of the party or argue the benefits of an Apple watch versus a FitBit. It hit Ororo how lonely he had to be, and how misunderstood he had to feel. Out of touch. 

Curiosity prodded her again, moving her feet toward the bedroom door. She crept slowly down the stairs, edging along the wall. She listened to him outside, still grunting and sniffing, and she wondered if he would be satisfied with staying outside on her lawn, this time. Ororo crept down the hall, staying close to the furniture so the floor wouldn’t creak; the floor boards felt cool beneath her bare feet. She lingered by the picture window in her living room and peeked through the slats. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he stalked past, his shadow floating over her skin. Her heart pounded faster and louder than before, and she stopped breathing for several seconds. Up close, she was his fur - _fur!_ \- thick and dark, and noticed he had talons for fingernails. He was fearsome to behold, and listening to his breathing, his low, hunkering growls, gave her goosebumps and sent thrilling little frissons down her spine. 

He paused. Went completely still. Ororo’s eyes widened. He slowly turned, so that instead of his craggy, imposing profile, she was staring directly into his eerie, yellow-gold eyes.

Slowly, she backed away, cold fear coursing through her as she released the slat of the blind, cutting off her view. He made a strangled yelp, then whined low in his throat at her retreat. “Shit!” Ororo rushed from her living room and ran up the stairs. She darted into her room and locked the door, then cleared all of her toiletries from the top of it. Ororo took down her large mirror, setting it down on the bed, and she grabbed the dresser, tugging on it, dragging it until it blocked the doorway completely. 

She expected more growling. She listened, afraid that he would break her window and turn her front door into splinters. But instead, all she heard was low whining. Whimpering and more sniffing. And a low scratching. Insistent and rough. “What?” she huffed. She was cold and sweating with fear, but… that didn’t sound like a savage beast. She went back to her bedroom window. She couldn’t see him from there, now, because she had a covered front porch, but she knew he was still outside her door. Whimpering.

Like a dog who wanted inside.

“Geez.”

She braced herself for trouble, wondering if he would remain like this. It still didn’t feel like the right thing to call the authorities. No. She feared for him, out at night like this and completely vulnerable. “Poor thing,” she mused. 

Ororo went to her closet and grabbed a souvenir bat that she picked up at a Giants game when she went out west with Anna to San Francisco to freeze their butts off in the cheap seats and gorge themselves on overpriced garlic fries. She moved the dresser back from the door and eased her way through, back down the stairs. His whining was louder as she reached the ground floor, almost pitiful. She was still afraid, but sympathy invaded her consciousness, confusing her. She was about to go back to the door, but then a lightbulb went on in her head. Okay. _Let’s give him a good reason to behave._ An incentive.

Ororo returned to the living room moments later, holding the cold, dripping petite sirloin in her tight, shaking grip. She heard him scratching and whining more insistently the closer she came. She knew he had to hear her footsteps. Her breathing.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, feeling her voice quiver. “Okay? Nice… Logan. Good boy.” He made a rough sound, almost like a low bark at the sound of his name. “I know it’s you,” she told him. “Okay, Logan? I know it’s you. And, it’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

He whined plaintively, as though he agreed with her.

“You’re kinda in the altogether again, buddy. The neighbors aren’t gonna like it if you’re still like that by sun-up.”

He whined again, making an odd growl, but this one had form. A shape.

“Rrrrrr-ro.”

_Shit._

“I have something for you. Okay?”

She unlocked the door and slowly turned the knob. She watched him through the crack of the door, startling slightly at the motion and sound of the hinge. He stopped growling and whining, and she caught his gaze. Held it.

“Hi. Hey, big guy. Hungry?” 

He cocked his head to the side, whining and noticing what she held in her hand. She held the bat out of view and slowly opened the door just wide enough to hand out the steak.

He leaned forward, sniffing at the meat, and at her fingers. His whiskers - _whiskers!_ tickled her skin, and she choked back a laugh. But then he snatched the meat from her grip, startling her, and she jumped back, letting him take it. He scrabbled backwards, doubled around and scrambled off her porch and onto the lawn. She watched him hunch over the steak, devouring it messily. “Ew,” she muttered. Wow. _Wow_.

He was like a great big German shepherd. She watched, fascinated, as he ate, completely nonplussed. Ororo set the bat in the corner, just behind the coat stand, and she left the door cracked open. She glanced at the wall clock. It was four forty-five. The sky looked a bit lighter, the stars less brilliant, and the moon was lower, blurrier. 

“Logan?” she murmured. “Are you going to behave?”

He looked up at the sound of his name. At her quiet, calm tone. He crept up slowly, padding quietly up her front steps. He whined again, unsure of what to do. Like he always was every morning, except… this time, he didn’t seem desperate to escape. He was rapt, just staring at her in the low moonlight. At her soft, gleaming hair. Her smooth skin and long, bare legs and feet. At eyes blue as tourmalines. Breasts unfettered by a bra beneath her pale gray sleep shirt.

 

Deep beneath the haze of lycan thoughts, senses and emotions, Logan thought, _She’s so damned beautiful. Perfect._

And she presented no threat. She was safe. Kind. Not afraid of him.

Worthy.

More importantly, she thought _he_ was worthy.

“Look… if I let you in, you-you have to promise me, you have to promise me that you won’t try anything funny. Okay? It’s almost daylight. See?” She nodded up at the sky, and he followed her gaze. “No more streaking. No more upsetting the neighbors.”

She opened the door the rest of the way, beckoning to him.

“Rrrr.”

“C’mon in, you big goof.”

“Rrrrr. Rrr-ro.”

“And wash your hands.” She reached for him and gave his brawny arm a light tug. He followed her over the threshold, looking confused, but not displeased with this new development. Ororo closed the door and led her guest into the kitchen. She decided it wasn’t worth freaking out over the fact that he was still naked. ~~Not much, anyway.~~ She guided him to the sink and turned on the faucet, dragging his hand under the cold spray. He startled at first, but then caught on, letting her gently turn his hand back and forth under the cool stream, rinsing away the blood from the creases and from under his talons. Her touch felt good. Soft. Kind.

She smelled sweet, like sandalwood again, and he caught a whiff of her shampoo, making him wish he could bury his face in her hair. Or in the hollow of her slender throat. He heard her heartbeat, quick but gradually slowing. He felt her vibrations, comforting and warm. Steady. She blotted his hands with a dishtowel and led him back into the house. Upstairs. It felt awkward climbing them, moving in his hunched gait. But they made it up to the landing, and Ororo eased into her bedroom, mindful of the narrow opening and the dresser impeding her entry. She moved it back with a grunt, struggling, until Logan moved past her, bumping into her. His body felt warm despite the chilly air outside. She shivered at the contact of his fur against her bare arm. Logan shoved the dresser back with hardly any effort, toward the empty space where it stood before. Ororo huffed a laugh.

“Okay. Just… Go. Hop in. Time for night-night, buddy.” She nodded to the bed. “Climb in. Behave.”

He made a whining sound again, but he didn’t argue. 

He was inside, safe and sound. It was still dark, even though Ororo could see the shapes in her dark room more clearly. He lay there, uncovered, unsure of his welcome. Ororo sighed and climbed in next to him, and she drew up the blankets, covering them both, tucking them around so he wouldn’t get a draft. He still looked confused, thick, craggy brows drawn together, but the golden cast began to fade from his eyes. She let her head settle into the pillows as she watched him. “It’s all right. Just rest.”

She reached out, hesitating, then lightly stroked his cheek. His fur felt coarse but soft. He made a low whining sound and leaned into her touch. She smoothed back his disheveled hair, combing her fingers through it, and his body relaxed. She watched his eyes droop from exhaustion as she continued to stroke his hair.

She was tired, too, from her fitful night and vigilance. Ororo yawned, and he echoed it a moment later. She felt him reach up and take her hand, stilling it, and he held it against his cheek, nuzzling it, a silent request to stop, to tell her he’d had enough for the moment. But he let her hand slip down and held it against his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady.

Ororo sighed and drifted off. She didn’t notice the slowly pinkening sky and sun-kissed clouds outside, nor the chirping birds. She felt the form beside her shift, bringing its warmth closer. Enveloping her.

Logan’s inner wolf crept back into its den, leaving the man to his dreams, more peaceful than they’d ever been.


	4. Returning the Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan receives a very welcome surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Don’t act shocked.

Ororo forgot to reset her alarm. By the time she woke, the bedroom was bright with sunlight, and she felt hazy from sleep. Almost _too_ rested. She stirred against a warm, solid bulk, squirming and stretching within the snare of a heavy pair of arms. She yawned gustily and hummed her approval of the warmth and the soft, slightly hairy skin beneath her cheek. Gentle, blunt fingers caressed her hair.

“Hey. Darlin’. Is this all right?”

The voice was soft and deep, rough and scratchy from sleep.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded against him and burrowed her face into his neck. He huffed, and she heard the crack of his smile.

“You sure?”

“Sure,” she repeated, and she coiled her arms around him, trapping his thigh with her leg.

“Made yerself awfully comfortable, ‘Ro.”

“S’only fair. You kept me up.”

He was immediately contrite. “Look, darlin’... I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. I keep… I can’t stop… Damn it. Damn it, damn it-”

“No. Don’t. Don’t worry. Please.” She leaned up and stared down into his face. His hand paused in her hair, and he plucked a strand from the corner of her mouth where it had stuck. “I know this isn’t typical, okay? This isn’t something I just ‘do.’”

“Understood.”

“And I know this seems a little… forward on my part.”

“On _yer_ part? Okay, ‘Ro. Sure.” His eyes were still drowsy, but they crinkled in amusement. They were lovely up close, a warm, deep brown with bits of amber in them.

“Okay. You’re not exactly subtle, either.”

“Subtlety ain’t exactly my strong suit,” he agreed, and he settled her more comfortably against him, still not quite believing that he had that luxury.

 

“But.” She paused a beat. “I like you. There’s just something about you, and… I like you, Logan.”

That made his smile spread across his face at its full wattage. “Oh, ya do, do ya?”

Her smile was crooked, and her eyes flitted off to the side, but he teased her chin with his fingertip to prompt her to look at him. Her eyes were honest and warm. Logan read the affection there, mingled with a hint of mischief. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well, I hope ya like me for my mind, darlin’.”

“That. And your modesty.”

Laughter. It burst from him in rough, raspy chuckles and sputters, and he poked her in her side, making her yelp. “Yer the worst,” he muttered.

“I know.”

“I like you, too, darlin’.”

“Never would have guessed, buddy.”

“Can I kiss ya good mornin’?”

Ororo nodded and hummed in the affirmative, and she dipped her head, caressing his lips with hers. His pushed back, temptingly soft, and their lips met again, another pliant stroke, followed by another, before he sucked her plump lower lip to urge her to open for him, and from that moment, the kisses grew hungry and hot, consuming her.

He was still lusciously naked. All Ororo had on was the brief sleep shirt and soft, satin panties. His touches were tentative, as though his hands wanted to ask permission as they found each curve, dip and hollow of her body. Her skin smelled sleep-warm and her hands explored him, too, making him glad he woke up in a bed instead of with cold, damp grass tickling his nethers. 

She cut off their kiss with a short, sharp “Oh, shit! Look at the time!”

It was a Tuesday, after all.

“Ooooh. Ya slept in, darlin’.”

“Eeearrrrghhh…” She slumped against him in temporary defeat. “Well. I can’t call off, but we can raincheck.”

“Can’t call ‘em and fake a cough? Food poisoning? Make a pretend ransom call? Maybe ya got kidnapped by a cult of party clowns.”

She snickered against his chest. “Oh, man. You’re making it hard for me to leave this bed.”

“That’s the point, darlin’. It’s nice in here.”

“Will you come back? Later?”

“Whatever ya want, ‘Ro. Whenever.” She felt him shrug beneath her and sighed as he resumed stroking her hair.

“Wearing actual clothes? And come in through the front door?”

“I could work something out. I’m flexible.”

“And, hey, buddy. You wouldn’t have to wear them for that long.”

“Oh. Now you’re speaking my language, Ororo.”

“The view is pretty nice.”

“Yes, it is.” And his eyes drank her in, memorizing her face. “I just can’t seem ta stay away from you for too long, darlin’. And I like wakin’ up ta you.” His hands framed her face, and Logan skimmed his thumb over the edge of her lower lip. She responded by nibbling the edge of it, staring into his eyes. Challenging him. Desire filled him, and she made a pleased little sigh when he drew her down for another kiss. Her hips moved wantonly against him, and Logan groaned at the feel of her pressing down against his flesh. 

Despite her warnings about needing to leave for work, he held her there. His inner voices reminded him that this could still be a dream. He could really be lying out on her lawn again, dreaming this, craving the feel of her arms instead of basking in the reality. He didn’t want to let go of her or watch her take away her heat, her scent, her softness, or the sound of her rich, smooth voice. 

But she broke the kiss, this time looking and sounding apologetic. “You know where to find me. That goes without saying.”

“When, then?”

“Tonight. Seven. I’ll feed you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Do you work today?”

“My shift starts a little later, kiddo. Kinda helps, with the life I lead.”

“Right. Sure.” She huffed a laugh and eased off of him reluctantly, treating him to another long look at her body as she climbed out of bed. “At least you won’t be late.” Then she had a thought. “Hold on.” She darted out of the room and down the stairs, making Logan tsk.

“O. Kay.” He lay back against the pillows, then turned his face to breathe in her scent from one. _Oh, that’s nice._ She jogged back up the stairs with something clutched in her hand. 

“Found you a pair in the clean wash,” she said triumphantly, brandishing the pair of mens’ briefs. She tossed them to him, earning herself a chuckle.

He refused her offer of a shower. “I ain’t gonna get into your shower without you in it, and I might never let ya go to work, darlin’.”

Point taken. “I’ll just get ready, then.”

Twenty minutes later, Logan sat buckled into Ororo’s passenger seat, clad in the briefs, an old, oversized college t-shirt of Ororo’s, and her stretchiest pair of yoga pants. It beat being nude, but Logan _still_ drew stares from her neighbors before they left. Still… 

“I’m usually smoother than this,” he murmured.

“Hmm?” She turned into his apartment complex’s parking lot, following the direction of his hand as she looked for his unit’s space.

“This ain’t how I like to break the ice.”

“Logan. Consider it broken.”

His eyes crinkled, and Ororo knew she wanted to make him smile like that again. Soon.

Frequently.

*

 

Ororo went home for lunch, and she ran into Emma as she came out that afternoon to check her mail and water her front lawn. Emma hailed her briefly after she turned on her sprinklers and met Ororo halfway across the street. “Did you take care of things with your houseguest?”

“Ooooooh, I’d say so.”

“God, Ororo, what’s his deal? What’s going on with him? Is that just his thing?” Emma looked intrigued when she saw how Ororo hedged and hugged herself.

“I don’t even know how to explain this. He’s not a pervert. He just… sleepwalks. But Emma, he’s _so_ nice.”

“Sleepwalks? Really? That’s what all this is about?” Emma’s mouth dropped open, and Ororo felt momentarily guilty about the lie, but Logan’s secret wasn’t hers to share.

“Pretty much.”

“So, he sleeps in the nude, then.”

“Yep.”

“Well, that explains that. Okay! That’s not weird at all!”

“I know, I know…”

“But, you like him?”

Ororo nodded slowly, and her smile was shy. “Yeah. I really do.”

“Okay. Just… see what you can do about the whole naked-on-your-lawn thing. Esme doesn’t need the anatomy lesson quite yet…”

“We’ll work on that.”

“Thank yooooouuuuuu.” Emma dashed back into her house, and Ororo went to make herself a salad with leftover chicken, musing. 

Ororo couldn’t help him with the change. She couldn’t make him _not_ change. But she had to wonder, what made him wander out at night? What gave him itchy feet? Was it because he was restless?

Or maybe, just because he was _lonely_?

She came home that night and went through her usual routine. Dinner. Laundry. Sprucing up the bathroom. Making the living room look less like a pack of wild moose had stampeded through it, picking up the clutter and the discarded clothing that made her sofa look like her laundry hamper.

She put away the bat, relieved that she wouldn’t need it.

She made sure that supper was still warm and waiting by the time Logan arrived, on the dot and definitely better dressed. He wore a zippered cardigan over a turtleneck and a comfortably broken-in pair of jeans, and his hair was combed through with some product. Ororo gave a low wolf whistle and told him, “Hubba, HUBBA.”

“Oh, God… stop. Don’t.” He looked embarrassed but tickled, rubbing his nape, and she watched a blush creep over his cheeks.

“Oh, honey hush,” she continued as she stepped aside to let him inside. “Oh, my goodness. I liked you out of those clothes, but I like you _in_ those clothes. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to get you back out of those clothes, but I promised I’d feed you.”He looked civilized enough at a glance, but there was always something wild under the surface, if you looked closely enough. He blushed and tsked under his breath, but then he closed in on her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her, warm and sweet. She sighed in contentment, and the sound resonated through him, settling over his nerves. It felt so good to hold her. 

It was getting difficult to stop kissing him, and Ororo had to break free long enough to lock the door. Her breath sounded shaky and uneven when she spoke. “How was work?”

“Too damned slow. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, darlin’.” He wanted to drown in those eyes, now glazed with passion. He stroked the curve of her plump lower lip with his thumb, caressed the perfection of her skin.

“Me, too.”

“Thought ya were gonna feed me.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Is that gonna include dessert, darlin’? Huh?” She nodded, making a little noise of agreement.

“Promise you won’t bite me?” she husked.

“Not unless ya ask me, ‘Ro.” There was so much promise in that voice. So much heat in his eyes, and his body blazed with warmth through his practical clothes. She wanted to wrap herself in it, but first…

“Come to the table. I hope you’re hungry.”

They sat close to each other at her dinette, and she just picked at her own food while he ate his slowly, appreciatively, occasionally feeding her a morsel of his chicken. Ororo made a show of it, eating from his fingers, licking the sauce from his skin and sucking it clean. She heard his breathing change, watched his pupils dilate. She swore she could hear his pulse jump.

He’d certainly heard hers, as well as her heartbeat that sped up a little every time he fed her, slipping his fingers into the satiny wetness of her mouth.

“I wasn’t expecting this, ‘Ro. I dreamt about it enough, but…”

“The last couple of times around, I realized I didn’t want you to run away from me. If you’d stuck around, I would have made you breakfast.”

“I like this.”

“Good.” She wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, tasting it off of him, but he leaned in and kissed her. “Mmmmm…”

“Mmm-hmmm.” She chuckled and drew back, needing to know something. “What made you pick me?”

“I felt something when we met. Can’t even describe what it was, but… I felt myself bein’ pulled back here, toward you. You were safe. Strong. And calm.”

“Maybe not _that_ calm. I kinda freaked out a little when I saw you with the fur.” She reached out and caressed his jaw, cradling it in her palm. “I could get used to it, though.”

“I hope ya mean that.”

“Oh, I do.”

“All right,” he said with a shrug. Then Logan pushed back his chair, startling her, before he stood up, pulled her to her feet, and then hoisted her over his shoulder by the waist. 

“Logan!” Giggles escaped her, and she swatted his ass ineffectually. Her hair hung down into her face from being tipped over like that, and she felt herself bouncing along as he took the stairs quickly.

“Ya mentioned dessert.”

“I might’ve…” Her voice was cut off as he plopped her down onto the bed. And his expression was hungry.

“I’ve got a sweet tooth, darlin’. And ya look pretty sweet ta me.” His voice was a deep rasp that made little thrills run down her spine and gave her goosebumps, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she clutched at him, dragging him down with her to the mattress. That firm body covered her, and he drank deep kisses from her mouth, exploring it, mapping the interior and making her arch against him. Ororo’s arms twined around him, and she combed her fingers through his thick, unruly hair, mussing it up. She wanted him messy. Wild. 

“Protection’s in the top drawer.” Her voice sounded breathy and full of need.

“That’s fine, darlin’.” He murmured that into her neck as he undid the buttons of her thin sweater and then kissed a path between her breasts. She felt the faint chill of the room as he exposed her skin, but he replaced it with the heat of his mouth and hands. _Oh, he was good at this._ He lapped and nibbled her _everywhere_ , just taking his sweet time, finding and undoing all of the fastenings on her clothes, letting each piece drop to the floor, one by one. His tongue swirled inside the dip of her navel, nearly making her come off the bed. “Taste sweet, ‘Ro. Taste so good.”

She shuddered at the arousal in his voice and the way his eyes ate her up. Her hands skimmed over him, finding the zipper of his sweater and tugging it down impatiently, jerking at the buckle at his waist. She needed to see him, to touch him without any barriers and linger over his skin after staring at it for so many months, like he was her offering. He loomed over her as she gradually freed him of all those layers and textures of fabric; cable-knit cotton, soft turtleneck, thinner cotton briefs, rough, scratchy denim, all of it was shed with abandon, mingling with her clothes on the floor. She lolled beneath him for a while, just drinking him in while he slowly rutted against her. She reached between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his swollen, twitching flesh. It felt hard and hot as she stroked it, and his face went slack with bliss.

“Please, darlin’...”

“I know what you want,” she purred. “But it’s okay to tell me how. Or to show me.” He made an intelligible sound and jerked in her hand. Ororo leaned up and lapped at the cords of muscle in his throat. He was exquisite, male, strong; his skin was firm and hot, covered with a layer of dark hair. Logan’s breathing quickened as she wrested control from him and rolled them over so that she straddled him. He moaned in pleasure and gripped her hips, letting her kiss him senseless. Ororo’s hair tented their faces, tickling his skin, and Logan tangled his fingers in it, savoring how silky it felt, how it smelled; its fragrance whispered to him and inflamed his senses. Her body’s curves were generous, and they yielded to his caress. He teased her nipples, barely skimming them with his fingertips, circling them with a feather-light touch, and she rutted against his hardened flesh in response. So much sensation pooled her stomach at the feel of his hands at her breasts, and she didn’t object when he sat up, keeping her on his lap so he could suckle her. Long, lazy spirals of his tongue around one stiffened, luscious dark bud made her hips move, but he tightened his grip on them, stilling her. 

“Not yet,” he rasped. She’d finish him off too quickly, and he wanted to savor this and draw it out as long as he could. But he could still tease Ororo, in the meantime, and he feasted on her, on her neck, collarbones, and her breasts until he felt her grow slick, dampening his flesh. “Look at you, darlin’. God, just look at you… yer beautiful, ‘Ro. I wanna make ya forget yer own name.”

She nodded, and his fingers traced the line of her spine, giving her more shivers, until she had to kiss him again to stifle herself, because she was about to wake the neighborhood, with no remorse.

Logan lifted her up with him, scooting to the edge of the bed and carrying her with her legs wrapped around him toward the dresser. He rested her against the edge of it while he dug in the drawer one-handed, finding the box of Trojans, unopened. That flattered him. He grabbed one foil-wrapped disc and ripped it open with his teeth before handing it to her to fiddle with. She prized the condom loose and gripped him, stroking him a few times just to make him make that _sound_ again, before she eased it over the head and rolled it down, kissing him, and he carried her back to the bed, easing them back to their prior positions, and this time when she reached for him, she guided him to her waiting entrance and sheathed him in one smooth thrust. Her eyes widened at the feel of him, how stretched and full she felt. The choked, shuddering gasp that escaped her, paired with that look of wonder on her face woke the animal in him, and his grip on her hips tightened. Ororo thought she saw a brief flash of amber in his eyes, but it faded an instant later, and she began to move. Long, slow thrusts, with her arms wrapped around his neck. She rode him, taking him so sweetly, breathing in the scent of his skin and sweat. Slow, sharp pumps of her hips drove him mad.

“Feel so good, darlin.’” She was hot, snug, and fit him like a glove. His hands skimmed over the slopes of her thighs, molding the tight muscles, kneading her ripe, round ass as he began to thrust up into her, meeting her halfway. The change in pressure as he hit her sweet spot forced little cries from her, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. “You like that, don’tcha.” His voice was gritty and low. Smug. “Like how that feels, huh? Havin’ me up inside ya.”

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, ya do.”

She nodded, unable to form words when he reached down and flicked her clit with deft fingers, stroking it and making it slick and hot. She rode him faster, harder, but he kept up with her. She squeezed him, lowering her face to his neck. “Oh, God, Logan… oh, God…” Her thighs burned, but she needed more from him. Her hands clutched at him, and she nipped his shoulder, teeth grazing his skin.

_Oh._

It was like she flipped a switch.

Excitement and electricity shot through his body at that small, subtle bite, and Logan growled in his throat, and he couldn’t let her delay what was happening to him any longer. Logan tangled his hand in her hair and kissed her hard, tongues dueling, before he tugged her hair to make her expose her neck to him. He laved it, nibbling the cords of her throat, and her cries grew in volume. He thrust up at her faster, more insistently, and her legs felt like they would give out. He felt her falter, and he rolled her onto her back, wrapping her legs around his waist. Logan resumed his thrusts into her wet heat, making her breasts bounce enticingly. This was what he liked, not just to feel, but to _watch_. She was arched back into the pillows, crying out his name like a prayer. It was so damned _good_ that he could practically _howl_.

Their skin misted with sweat. She felt the sensations building in her center, felt a fluttering in her womb, slowly giving in to the building, swelling ripples, and her climax rolled loose. Her hips jerked in little spasms, and Logan watched her face, saw those gorgeous eyes go hazy and close as he curled her toes.

He let her come down from it, and she was lax and limp. Glowing. He stretched himself out against her and kissed her. Soft, lingering and appreciative. Even apologetic. “Darlin’?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I’m turnin’ ya over.”

“What? Wait… oh! Logan, what’re you…?” Her voice was incredulous as he eased off of her and flipped her and leaned over to grab one of her pillows, which he tucked under her chest. “What… are you… oh. Oh.” He swept her hair aside and lapped at the tender flesh of her nape and shoulders. His tongue traveled down her delicate spin, tracing the pearls of her spine. He kissed the dents in the small of her back, then nipped at her ass to make it jump. 

Surely he wasn’t-

_\- oh, God, he WAS_.

Logan lifted her hips, urging her to come up on her knees, tilting herself up to him, and he gave her still-damp crease a deep, loving taste. Ororo’s eyes widened, then completely glazed over with pleasure. 

This man was going to kill her. Honestly.

_Local Woman Dies from Heart Attack Brought on by Multiple Orgasms. Details at Eleven._ Holy. SHIT. Oh, his tongue… it felt like hot velvet, stroking her tender flesh and building her back up to fever pitch within seconds. And he was still hungry… still savoring her… still exploring all of her secrets and hidden nerves and hot zones with that _mouth_. His dark stubble oversensitized her, a counterpoint to his soft lips. He had her shuddering and crying out into the pillow, fingers curled in the sheets as he made her come again. Her legs wobbled, and he gripped her hips to steady her. 

“I ain’t ever gonna get tired of that,” he admitted.

Ororo tried to speak, but her voice was hoarse. “Hnnnnfff.” He kissed the curve of her ass, tracing patterns over his skin with his fingers. 

“Stay with me, sweetheart. Just a little longer. You feel so good, darlin’.”

She moaned at the gentle probe of his fingers stroking her, spreading her and slipping inside. Ororo moaned again into the pillow, gripping it. She felt him rub his sex against her entrance, and her head spun at the thought that he _still hadn’t come_ and that he was ready for another go.

Yet she thrust her hips back at him in invitation, letting his cock slide just along her crease, promising that she would welcome him back. He let her tease him, just warming his cock, and she pushed herself up onto her hands, fully on all fours. The arch of her back and the proud tilt of Ororo’s ass made Logan eager to be inside her again, but he just let her rub on him, grinding back on him in smooth slides, cradling his balls against her divide. He was so swollen and hard; inside the condom, he was leaking. Dripping with need. 

“That’s it, darlin’. That’ it. That’s how I like it.” His own breathing was uneven and his voice was ragged, but she heard the smile in his tone. “That’s right… ya feel so right, ‘Ro.”

_How could she still be so hungry for it? For him?_ She let out a small mewl of need, urging him to give her what she wanted, continuing to rub on him. He let her for a few more precious strokes, before he returned himself to her heat in one smooth, hard thrust.

By the third thrust, she was pushing back to meet him, finding his rhythm and making it hers. 

By the tenth thrust, Logan began to move faster, driven by those moans and whimpers. She sounded so damned sweet. Sounded like that for _him_ and that sent his brain into a tailspin.

By the time he lost count, she had a pulsing grip on him, insides squeezing and coddling him until he couldn’t hold on. His climax worked its way down his spine and into his hips, and he felt himself burst. He came shuddering, thrusting his way through it, and the short, hard snaps of his hips pushed Ororo over the edge one last time. Her breath came out in helpless, disbelieving pants and broken cries.

This time, they both collapsed. She was so deliciously limp, welcoming the freedom from the burden of coherent thought. Logan’s arms found her, enveloping her so that they lay spooned together. His breath fanned over her nape and stirred her hair. 

She twitched, arching back against him, hand caressing his arm where it was looped around her waist. He breathed in her scent and brushed reverent kisses over her shoulder. “I’m gonna tuck ya in. Just like you did me.”

“All right.” She yawned and felt him kiss her again.

“And I’m gonna throw this thing out.” Logan managed to free the covers from where they were bunched underneath them and spread them over Ororo, locking out the chill. She heard him pad out the door to her bathroom and heard the snap of the condom being removed and pitched into the trash. When he came back, he turned off her light and crawled under the covers with her. She automatically curled herself around him in the dark and just listened to him breath. She fell asleep with the sensation of him stroking her hair again.

He drifted off, and Logan dreamt of her eyes, of her voice calling his name. 

They felt safe. Warm. 

Like perfect mates.

 

*

 

Logan still changed once a month. But he ceased his late night wanderings once his reason for it was right beside him, beckoning and inviting. He never woke up on Ororo’s front lawn again.

 

But sometimes, Ororo’s neighbors still sighed and scratched their heads at the sight of the short, stocky guy with rumpled hair making his out to get her newspaper off the lawn, dressed in her pink chenille bathrobe with teacups on it. What was the _deal_ with some people?

 

FIN.


End file.
